


A Shattered Mirror (and Seven Years' Bad Luck)

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Hela (Marvel), BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Thor (Marvel), Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Dark Thor (Marvel), F/M, Gen, Gods Do It All the Time, Half-Sibling Incest, Hela is Mistress Death, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Incest, Infinity Gems, Loki (Marvel) Lives, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, My First AO3 Post, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sort Of, The Avengers Are Good Bros, The Norns are Dicks, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Wow that was already a tag, great minds think alike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Loki met his death at the Mad Titan's hand, he thought it was the end of his story. Waking up on an Asgard ruled by Hela Odinsdottir changed this.Or,In which Loki must assemble the Avengers, save his brother from their crazy sister, thwart Thanos’s quest, and save a universe that is not his own with people he really doesn't like. He'd like that drink now, thanks.





	A Shattered Mirror (and Seven Years' Bad Luck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me the name of my brother's would-be killer," ordered the queen.
> 
> It was now or never. "Thanos of Titan," Loki exhaled.
> 
> "Ha!" exclaimed Thor. "I hope he doesn't ask for your hand in marriage, my queen. It would be a most awkward ceremony." 
> 
> Or,
> 
> In which Loki is somehow still alive, but possibly not for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there was an idea. It was a pretty weird idea and I decided that I wouldn't go through with it. This decision lasted all of two days because I lack self-control. I've never posted on AO3 before and this formatting thing is confusing. I probably screwed it up, though I think I put the notes in the right place. Maybe.
> 
> This is what I wrote instead of Avengers 4 speculation. Forgive me.

Dying, Loki decided, was not painless. It was not the numbing, all-encompassing bliss that he had always imagined it to be—a final escape from the cares of life, from the guilt he carried with him, from the tightness in his chest at the sight of _him_ , from the fear of his brother’s death, from all of it. There would be pain, he had thought, and then an end to the pain. He could not begin to hope for Valhalla, but there would be peace. He had forgotten what it was like to live in peace.

Surprisingly—and frustratingly—he was wrong.

The grip around his throat was unforgiving, unrelenting, and he could feel nothing but the pain of the fingers tearing the breath from his lungs and the utter hopelessness that was all but drowning out his other senses as he struggled against the hand holding him. (Was he still fighting it? He could no longer tell.) Then the fingers clenched until something snapped, followed by the pain intensifying to an impossible degree, and, numbly, Loki thought, _I am going to die._ This was somewhat less terrifying that the next thought: _Will he kill Thor?_

Then there were no thoughts that followed.

* * *

The first thing that Loki noticed when he opened his eyes was that the sun was annoyingly bright. He shut his eyelids tightly, wincing as green and purple splotches of light stained his vision. For several moments he lay there, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the blinding light that always seemed to plague Asgard in the summer—

Asgard. In the summer.

It took an embarrassingly long second for Loki to remember everything: the death of (his father) Odin, Hela throwing him through the Bifrost, reuniting with Thor on Sakaar, helping Thor save Asgard by destroying it, Thanos attacking the ship, and dying. 

Dying.

 _Dead_.

He was dead. 

Loki scanned his surroundings, noting that this was not, in fact, Helheim, the realm of the dishonorable dead that Loki had thought himself damned to spend eternity in. It also did not appear to be Valhalla, though that was only because it looked exactly like the palace gardens he and Thor had spent most of their childhood playing in. There were even those oafish guards near the entrances, though these ones looked a bit startled as they stared at him. Then one of them shouted a command and started towards him.

Looking back on it, Loki blamed the fact that he had already died once that day, which was no doubt what made him a bit less sharp than usual. 

He quickly rose to his feet. Or, well, he _tried_ to, only his knees buckled beneath him and sent him crashing to the ground. His vision swam, the bright green of the grass joining with the gold and emerald uniform of the guard before him in a burning clash of colors. It wasn't until strong hands were gripping his arms that his wits returned to him. Like the magic his mother had taught him, words began to roll off his tongue, coming to him as easily as breathing. 

"I seek audience with the All-Father," he said confidently even as the guard dragged him to his feet. Still, he could detect desperation his voice. "Asgard is in danger. It is of paramount importance that I speak to him."

The guard backhanded him.

Loki was no mere mortal; he was the God of Mischief, a powerful sorcerer, a prince of Asgard, the rightful king of Jotunheim, and wielder of _two_ Infinity Stones. He had survived the vaccuum of space on multiple occasions, faked his death twice, ruled as All-Father for over three years, and saved the people of Asgard from Ragnarok. Few beings could match him in wit and skill, and he had somehow managed to survive Thanos of Titan when the maniac had been armed with the Infinity Gauntlet. 

However, he had already died once that day, and he completely lost his senses almost immediately after the guard's gloved hand met his cheek. 

He was only aware of being dragged through the palace, going down an endless stone staircase, and being uceremoniously tossed into a dark, pungent room. Then, he was only aware of a throbbing pain in his head and the barely-noticeable tingle of his disturbingly weak seidr as it struggled to repair the damage done to his body. For an agonizingly long time, he could do nothing but stay curled up into a protective ball until the pain lessened to the point where he could sit up and take stock of his new quarters.   

The cell he was currently situated in was nowhere near as comfortable as the one Frigga had gotten him right after his siege of Midgard, but it was still a far cry from the conditions he had faced during his time with _him._  While the stench of vomit and urine was rather.... _unsavory_ , it was not unbearable. He had survived worse, so much worse.

Which reminded him: how was he still alive?

As soon as Thanos's ship had engulfed his vision, Loki had known he was dead. Taking the Tesseract had been folly, but at least he had bought his brother's life with it—hopefully. There had been no chance that he would be able to kill the Titan, but it had kept that monster away from Thor, and that was the most important thing. 

Loki, as planned, had attacked Thanos.

Loki, as planned, had died.

There was no possible explanation for his survival, let alone his presence on a not-destroyed Asgard. His mind practically burned with the impossible situation he had found himself in. Was it possible that he was still alive and hallucinating what was happening, that he was an almost-corpse on the ship? Probably not, seeing as his subconscious would have no doubt furnished him with better quarters—specifically the throne. Had Thanos used the Space Stone and sent him here as a twisted sort of torture? Loki doubted that particular Stone could perform this feat—perhaps it could when joined with the Time or Reality Stones, but Thanos had yet to obtain either of those. 

There was also a gap in his memories between "dying" and awakening, but Loki finally came to the conclusion that he simply did not have enough data go on at this point in time. For once, Loki wished that Odin would hurry up and summon him already regardless of the reason for him being here. 

Hours passed. He desired rest—he was absolutely  _drained—_ but he didn't trust his surroundings. There was a chance that he really was indeed dying or already dead, and perhaps his eyes would never open again if he dozed off now. His seidr was still far too depleted to even begin experimenting with his prison, so all he could do was wait.

And wait.

And wait.

When he had counted to eight hundred and thirty-seven minutes, the entrance to his cell opened, revealing a golden armor-clad guard. "The queen will see you now," she said, watching indifferently as Loki stumbled to his feet.  _The queen._ Why would Frigga be seeing him instead of the All-Father? 

"And what of Odin?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

The guard's blank expression was quickly replaced with one of rage. "You  _dare_ insult the All-Mother by speaking of such filth, you worthless—"

"Sif, enough!" sounded a tenor voice from somewhere behind her. Loki frowned—how had he not recognized  _Sif_ of all people, even if she was dressed as a palace guard—but quickly schooled his features when an equally strange Fandral became visible over Sif's shoulder. Like Asgard's most celebrated female warrior, Fandral was almost unrecognizable in standard golden armor; even his trademark (albeit absurd) collar and elegant shoulder pads were missing. Yes, it was Fandral, just as Sif was Sif, but they were not  _his_ Fandral and Sif. The creeping suspicion that something was terribly wrong quickly morphed into a cold realization that everything had, in the words of a Midgardian he had once had in his servitude, gone to shit.

A gloved finger was shoved into Loki's personal space. "This insolent, motherless dog has the audacity to mock our queen by mentioning Skovalldr as if he hadn't betrayed our people, as if he hadn't—"

" _Sif_ ," Fandral repeated, more firmly this time. The warrior relented as she turned her attention to her friend, if they  _were_ still friends, but kept her angered demeanor. Fandral, on the other hand, simply flashed her one of his charming grins, though the twinkle in his eyes was nothing short of teasing. " _Please_ tell me that you, Lady Sif of Asgard, Captain of the Palace Guard, one of the mightiest warriors of the Aesir, did not allow yourself to become riled at the words of a petty prisoner who will no doubt be skewered by our prince within the hour—because if you did, Thor and the others will not let you live this down."

It took all of Loki's willpower to not visibly start at the mention of his brother's name; no matter what strange reality he had somehow found himself in,  _Thor_ was here, and all would soon be well.

"But—"

"Did our queen not order you to personally bring her the mysterious intruder?" It seemed strange that Sif was not already throttling the golden-haired dandy for cutting her off for a third time, especially since she was apparently a high-ranking officer on this Asgard; however, she only pursed her lips before giving a curt nod to her fellow warrior. Fandral grinned brightly, and Loki believed it to be absent of mockery. "Then I shall leave you to it, Captain," he said, bowing at the waist. Just when Loki was sure that the warrior was about to leave, Fandral raised his eyes to Loki's own. He saw many things in Fandral's stare: curiosity, apprehension, possible attraction, and, annoyingly, pity. Then the Asgardian turned on his heel and walked out of Loki's line of sight.

Loki quickly found himself as the object of Sif's fiery glare once more and, despite the frailty that still plagued his body, tensed in preparation for an attack. However, the captain merely took hold of his bicep in a vise-like grip and pulled him out of the cell. "No cuffs or chains?" asked Loki, cocking a dark eyebrow.

Sif snorted, an action that seemed to rob her face of much of the rage that had been festering there. "For one who wears Asgardian garb," she replied, "you seem to know little of our people."

"Do you not know me, Captain?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice from betraying his confusion. 

The woman sneered. "Why would I know of a lowly prisoner?" she snapped, her fingers pinching his arm painfully for a few moments.

Loki tried not to wince. "So you mean to say that you've never seen my person before?" he inquired in the same causal tone. 

She gave him a scathing look. "You flatter yourself, wretch. Now still your tongue or face the queen without it." Deciding that he would learn nothing useful from the Lady Sif—or  _Captain_ Sif—he remained quiet for the duration of their walk. Still, he could not help but swivel his head around to take in the interior of the palace, something he had been unable to do when he had been brought to the prison cells. The bright colors of tapestries and paintings were gone, gold and silver put away in favor of bronze and iron. His eyes lifted upward at the ceiling, searching in vain for depictions of the deeds of All-Fathers past; instead, he was created by images of war-ravaged countrysides, mutilated bodies of Jotunns and Svartalfs, unbroken lines of Asgardian warriors led by a figure on a wolf—

 _No_.

Desperately, Loki whipped around, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the different pieces of art covering the palace. A one-eyed man being stabbed by a slim warrior in green. A golden-haired woman in tattered garments hanging from a tree. A young man clad in familiar armor kneeling before a raven-haired queen as she presented a hammer to him.

_Nonononononono—_

Sif stopped them in front of large, ornate doors that Loki couldn't help but recognize as the main entrance to the throne room. This wasn't real. This  _couldn't_ be real. It was a hallucination, or one of Thanos's tricks—perhaps he was still in the Sanctuary, subject to the whims of the Mad Titan and his sadistic children, and the past several years had never happened. Perhaps—

The two guards on either side of the doors saluted Sif and opened the doors, giving Loki a good, long view of the sight before him.

The sheer size of the throne room was still the same, still designed to show off the rulers' ridiculous wealth and to make whoever was entering feel small and insignificant. That had not changed. The giant pillars supporting the ceiling still loomed above those below, though their shadows were kept at bay by the golden lights shining throughout the room. That had not changed. Guards still filled the room, standing as still and erect as statues, their polished suits of golden armor reflecting their surroundings. That had not changed. Even the throne itself, as large and glittering as everything else in the room, had not changed.

What had changed was the person seated on the throne.

Her attire was dark, contrasting with her surroundings immensely. It was black and green still, like the last time he had seen it, but it was looser and fit more like a gown, and her form was not very defined beneath it. Her head-wear was a crown that looked as though it were painful to wear, with golden spikes protruding from the top. A giant wolf lay at her feet, and it growled at the sight of Loki. In her right hand was Gungnir, the symbol of Asgard's ruler.

Its current ruler was Hela Odinsdottir, the Goddess of Death.

Loki tried his best to keep his face passive even as his mind finally managed to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He had died. He had somehow been transported to an Asgard that was not destroyed. Said Asgard was ruled by Hela, who had killed Odin and Frigga prior to seizing the throne. Thor was alive, which meant that Hela had broken out of her prison as opposed to having never been put there in the first place. Sif and Fandral didn't recognize the adopted prince, which meant that Hela took over before the war with Jotunheim or she had killed him along with the king and queen. 

He was, as he had once heard Agent Clinton Barton say, fucked.

The painfully long walk to the base of the throne seemed all to short to Loki as he was forced to his knees before Hela, who stared at him with only mild interest. He immediately saw that she seemed much healthier than the last time he had seen her: less pale, a bit fuller in the face, lighter in the hair. "State your name and your intentions," she ordered, and Loki noted that her voiced sounded just as cruel as  _his_ Hela's had.

Time to work his magic, though not in the literal sense. "I am a traveler," he began, "who brings information regarding the fate of the Nine Realms."

Hela's laughter echoed through the throne room. "Really?" she demanded. "And what does this information say, pray tell?" Her flint-like eyes bore into him, absent of any humor. 

"It tells of the—"

The doors behind him swung open once more, and Loki could not help but turn away from the queen to take in the newcomer striding towards them. 

He was tall, standing above even Loki's height, but far more muscular than the God of Mischief had ever hoped to become. He was clad in armor of silver and black, arms covered by scaly armor that ended at the wrists, a green cape flowing in the air behind him. On each side at his hip hung black leather sword scabbards, though the one on his right was accompanied by a large hammer that Loki couldn't forget even if he wanted to. His hair was shorn short, much shorter than Asgardian fashion and closer to his skull than even Fandral's, but it was bleached blond by constant exposure to the sun. Both of his eyes—a startling blue—were trained on the god standing before Hela.

"Thor," Loki gasped before he could stop himself. His brother's hand skirted towards Mjolnir's handle, but the God of Thunder continued walking at the same pace before stopping with an arm's length of Loki and bowing before the woman in the throne.

"Sister," Thor greeted, meeting her gaze with his own before turning his attention back to their prisoner. 

"Brother," Hela replied, nodding at him. Her eyes remained on Thor for a few more moments, shooting him a look that Loki did _not_ like, then she gestured at Loki with Gungnir. "Our guards found this man in the gardens," she began. "They claim that he appeared out of thin air and started babbling about having information for me."

Thor's eyes lacked the warmth that Loki had always associated them with, but they were the wise eyes _his_  brother had possessed when he had left Loki on Sakaar. This Thor was no oaf, it seemed, but an intelligent prince. "And what information would that be?" he asked casually enough, but his tone betrayed his irritation.  _Good to know the short temper's still there_ , Loki mused. 

"The end of all life as we know it," Loki said, doing everything in his power to keep himself from lunging at Thor and   gathering the larger man in his arms. The last time he had seen his brother, that bastard Maw had used his powers to keep Thor trapped like a helpless child, and before that Thanos had thrown him around like a rag doll. Seeing him now but being unable to touch him was almost unbearable.

The blond prince snorted, but his eyes burned angrily into Loki's own. "This is a waste of time, sister," he said as he turned to face the queen once more. "I doubt that he is anything more than—"

"If I may be allowed to continue," interjected Loki, ignoring the glare Thor was shooting him, "the information I hold deals directly with the fate of Asgard and its—"

"We are all _very_  familiar with the tales of Ragnarok," growled Thor. "They are stories we tell our children so that they behave. 'Don't pinch your brother or Surtur will get you,' or, 'the Frost Giants will catch you if you’re out past midnight.' Even my sister  threatened that Jörmungandr would eat me if I didn't show up to my classes." He looked back at Hela. "My queen, this fool must be a spy of some sort. I suggest we finish this interrogation and execute him swiftly."

"He managed to slip by the palace's defenses," said Hela thoughtfully. "He is powerful in magic. I wish to know what he is."

Loki was certain that Thor was going to argue. The god's jaw worked in agitation as his electric blue eyes darted towards the prisoner next to him, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Then he turned back to his sister, and the two of them seemed to have a silent conversation—much like Loki and _his_ Thor had—that none but they could hear (and he was  _not_ envious in the slightest). The anger still remained in Thor's visage, but he finally bowed his head and took a step back. "As you wish, my queen," he said, suppressing his frustration very well; the only thing that gave it away was the slight tremble in his voice. 

Hela actually smiled at her brother's words. "I would like for you to remain and observe," she told him. Thor nodded and briskly climbed the steps, then stopped next to the wolf, crouched at its side, and began rubbing it behind the ears. The wolf seemed to calm at the god's touch, which Loki was thankful for; those green eyes were too crafty for a mere animal, and he didn't like being the object of its gaze. "Now," began Hela, staring down at Loki from her throne, "start from the beginning. My brother is rather....impatient." Thor rolled his eyes but said nothing to contradict her words.

"Of course, All-Mother." Hela seemed to relax a bit, leaning back and holding Gungnir loosely in her hand. Her brother glanced up at her, pausing his hand, which caused the wolf to gently nose him until he resumed stroking its enormous head. Loki took a deep breath. "I am from the future," he said, "a future in which Asgard is destroyed and its ruler is dead, its people reduced to a few thousand. Then those that remain are attacked by a maniacal yet powerful being, who slaughters half of the people and murders their prince—" He saw Hela's free hand reach down and clutch Thor's shoulder briefly before letting go, and wondered if the queen had even noticed her own actions. "—in his quest to wipe out half of the universe. I may be your only chance at preventing this future, Queen Hela."

He was not expecting Thor's laughter to ring through the air, echoing off the walls of the room. "Sister," he chuckled, "I was right when I told you to stop seeing that insolent beast. The queen's suck-up of a lover slaying her dearly beloved brother—the bards will sing of nothing else for the next ten thousand years!" 

Loki visibly paled at the prince's words. There was no way this could get any worse—there was no way what Thor was implying was true—

"Tell me the name of my brother's would-be killer," ordered the queen, her tone impassive, her features as unchanging as chiseled marble.

It was now or never. "Thanos of Titan," Loki exhaled.

"Ha!" exclaimed Thor, craning his neck to look up at his sister. "I hope he doesn't ask for your hand in marriage, my queen." He rubbed his blond beard thoughtfully, which irritated the wolf, causing it to growl discontentedly. "It would be a most awkward ceremony." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the first chapter of this shitstorm I dreamed up. Like it? Hate it? Comment below; constructive criticism is always welcome, be it negative or positive.


End file.
